


ricochet

by PaintedVanilla



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Banter, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, F/M, Feelings, First Dates, First Kiss, Getting Together, Inner Dialogue, Love Confessions, Online Dating, Post-Canon, Propositions, Secret Crush, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23626330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: “And then youleft,” Miller points out.“And then I came back,” Hardy says, in a quiet voice.alec hardy has a few un-dealt with feelings surrounding his detective sergeant. he's forced to acknowledge them, which might not be such a terrible thing, in the end.
Relationships: Alec Hardy & Daisy Hardy, Alec Hardy & Ellie Miller, Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller
Comments: 39
Kudos: 265





	ricochet

**Author's Note:**

> THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

Alec Hardy misses being married.

He doesn’t necessarily miss Tess— not after everything that happened, not after everything she cost him, both in terms of Sandbrook and his emotional state. He doesn’t miss Tess, but he does ache a bit when he sees her, longs for the familiarity they once shared. The closeness that comes from having someone like that in your life, that comes from raising a child together, that comes from long-lasting love. He misses that. He misses being close to someone. 

When she told him what had happened— her car broken into, the pendant stolen, his heart started skipping in a way he’d never felt before. He thought he was having a heart attack. He had to sit down, his face twisted up in agony while she told him about the lost evidence. He thought that would be the worst of it, his heart tripped up over the destruction of the case. He couldn’t even begin to conceive how he would feel it break in two when she told him what she has been doing at that hotel.

He’d been the one who had suggested they get divorced, but it hadn’t exactly thrilled him when Tess had jumped to agreeing. But it didn’t much matter; he didn’t have time to worry about it while the case was falling apart. They’d sorted the trial out before they’d pulled out the divorce paperwork. And even when it was all over, he didn’t get better. He’s hated that the most, how irreversible it all felt. He’d failed those girls, let the killer go free, destroyed his reputation in an attempt to save that of his wife’s, lost her in the process, and he couldn’t even stand to think about the look on Daisy’s face. And when all was said and done, he couldn’t even have a proper cry about it without his heart getting twisted in his chest. 

It was a terrible, aching, beating reminder. One hundred-and-twenty beats per minute, sixty minutes an hour, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Some nights it made him want to pull the damn thing right out of his chest.

He figured that would have been it for him. He’d never been very good at that sort of thing— romance and all that. Never that he didn’t want to, just that he didn’t really know how. The only reason he’d managed to get that far with Tess was because she’d been the one who went after him. She’d asked him out, dragged him in, pulled him under, and he’d gone right along with it happily. He’d fallen in love after five weeks, but he still waited for her to say it first. At least he’d been the one to propose, though he might have waited a bit long to pop the question.

After things with Tess had gone south, he really didn’t think about the prospect of anything else. Anything new. Anything after. It just didn’t sound like something he would be capable of. He tried to make peace with it, the way he made peace with the divorce itself, and the Sandbrook case, but he never was very good at making peace.

It wasn’t that he was immediately taken by Ellie Miller.

How could he have been, considering where they’d met? She walked right into the murder scene of an eleven year old boy, and he’d tried to get her shooed away before she’d shouted at him.

“No, I'm police!” she’d said over the waves. “Oh, God, I know him! He lives here! He has tea at my house! He's my boy's best friend! Oh, God, Beth. Does Beth know?”

“All right, calm down,” he’d tried to tell her. 

“You don't understand! I know that boy!” 

“Shut it off,” he’d said, because it seemed like good advice to give. It had gotten him through so much, it only seemed rational.

She’d looked at him like he was out of his mind. “ _Shut it off_?” 

“Be professional,” he’d amended quickly. “You're working a case now.”

He’d held his hand out. “Alec Hardy.” 

“I know. You got my job.” Her response was immediate. Like she’d been planning it.

He’d lowered his hand. There was a body on the beach behind them; it was all he could think about. “Really? You wanna do that now?”

It hadn’t exactly been a stellar introduction. There’d been a lot happening, far too much input for his brain to stop and let him get a proper look at her. He wouldn’t realize how pretty she was until they got back to the station.

She was pretty. It was a simple observation, but one that made his stupid heart tick in his chest in a way that would probably be frowned upon by doctors everywhere. 

She was pretty, and she was his detective inspector, and he’d been down that route before. 

She was pretty, and she had two children, and a wedding band.

It couldn’t be discussed. He wouldn’t let himself even begin to think about considering it. She was pretty, and that was as far as his observation was allowed to go. She was pretty, and she was also pretty married, and he already had far more experience with homewrecking than he would ever like to have. 

He squared off a little box in his mind, and he put the fact that she was pretty inside that box, and he shut the lid. He swore he would never open it up again as long as he lived (which, considering the way things with his heart were going, wouldn’t be long, anyway). 

He opened that box often, though. 

Not to dwell on what was already in it, mind, but to add to an ever growing collection. She was pretty, but she was also clever and charming and so horribly caring. She cried easy and got so invested in what they were doing, and he could never admit that he admired how she got just as invested as he did. She was lovely, and smart, and a good mum and a great detective and after a while he had to accept that pretty didn’t describe her. It didn’t do enough. She was absolutely gorgeous.

His heart did a funny little pitter every time he laid eyes on her. He steadily ignored it, beat those thoughts back into their little box. He tried to treat her like he would if he didn’t fancy her— not that he’d be caught dead using such a word. 

He couldn’t call her Ellie. Wouldn’t do. Too intimate, made his heart do funny things, and not the normal type of funny things. Miller was the way to go. And he could only accept Hardy from her, could hardly keep himself calm when she’d turned to him and asked, “I can call you Alec tonight, not Hardy or sir?”

He’d blanked, stared down at her, and she’d looked up at him. She’d said in a teasing tone, _Here's your dinner, sir_.”

He’d hardly been able to handle it, and for god’s sake, her husband had been right there! “I don’t like Alec,” he’d said awkwardly, even though it wasn’t necessarily true. He’d gone on to make quite an idiot of himself proving his point, though.

He hadn’t considered what it would mean in terms of his own relationship with her— if you could even call it that— when he found Joe in that shed.

He hadn’t been that selfish. Couldn’t have been. He would have kicked himself for thinking of what it could mean for _him_ while he’d arrested her husband, taken him in for questioning, taped his confession. It had been the very last thing on his mind; the only thing he’d thought was— 

_“What are you looking for, Miller? An easy answer to this? The least pain? It won't work like that.”_

He’d been having nightmares on and off since Sandbrook. Those first few nights after the arrest, though, those had been the worst. He kept seeing her face as she told him who it was. Kept hearing her screams as she was dragged away from him.

He had hated it. She, of all people, didn’t deserve that pain. He had seen her working the case— her dedication, her investment, her love for the Latimer’s, for Broadchurch. It all came sneaking back to rip her to shreds, leave her in tatters on the floor, and he hadn’t known how to help. 

She had come by his room the night of the arrest. He’d never been very good at comforting people, but he did what he could. And he’d kept his distance.

He hadn’t seen her again until the trial. He figured he’d get over it, and then she’d slipped into the courtroom last minute, flustered from running late, and his heart had done that little thing again, and he couldn’t help but be a little annoyed. Fifteen hundred people in that little town, and he had to go and pick her.

The trial had been a nightmare. Messy, aggressive, and emotionally harrowing. And in the end it hadn’t even mattered.

Sandbrook, though— oh, when he said he could have kissed her, he’d meant it. It’d been something he’d used to say to Tess, and being that she’d been both his D.I. and his wife, he’d usually been able to follow through. He’d meant it when he’d said it to Miller, though, because if she’d wanted, he really could have pulled her in and kissed her. Drowned in her.

She was still Miller, though. He couldn’t quite handle Ellie. Miller still made his heart do that little thing, he wasn’t sure what Ellie would do to it. 

“Don't get pulled into this,” he’d told her. “This case has done enough damage to people.”

“Not me,” she’d said, her voice firm. “I'm going to solve it.”

Not only had his heart done that little thing, but his knees had gone a bit weak, as well. It had been a miracle he hadn’t pitched right off into the bay. 

He’d known then, he was more than just smitten. And, God, had it gotten on his nerves.

But she’d been right. She solved it. _They_ solved it. They extracted those confessions together. He couldn’t have done it without her, and she’d known that, and she lorded it over him, and he hadn’t even been able to hate her for it. He could never hate her, he just wanted to kiss her. 

They’d slept in the same bed. If seeing her made his heart do that little thing, laying next to her in the dark had made it try to hammer its way out of his ribcage. 

Her face had been the first he saw when he woke from his surgery. And his heart still did the little thing. Even with a pacemaker in there to pump his blood for him, it still fluttered when he saw her. It had been another pleasant surprise, after finding himself alive.

And then he’d fucking left.

“So where are you gonna go?”

“Er… I don't know,” he’d admitted, because he really hadn’t had a good answer. “Erm… close to Daisy. I need to be near my daughter.”

“Yeah,” she’d said quietly. “Quite right.”

She’d left him with a handshake. “Not hugging you,” she’d said, and he’d ignored how it stung a bit. Had tried not to think about how he was starting to ache for her.

Two years he was gone. Two years without a text; phonecall; email; none of it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her, it was just that he didn’t know what to say. What was there to talk about when they weren’t working a case together? She was most compelling to talk to when she was possessed with their work.

 _Compelling_. He had to file that one away in the box. It was starting to get full.

He hadn’t had much of a reason to be compartmentalizing by that point, beyond the fact that he was absolute shit at human relationships.

Why did he bring Daisy back to Broadchurch? He’d had trouble answering the question, even to himself. But as much as he hated it, it had managed to make itself somewhat of a home to him. And he was hoping to get back a sense of normalcy with Miller. Two years ought to have killed whatever was growing in his heart for her.

He’d miscalculated on that one. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so they say. And his heart had grown quite fond. It hadn’t done that little thing in ages; it had a lot to catch up on.

She’d grown her hair out. He wanted to tell her it looked nice. He didn’t say anything. 

They’d gotten back into the rhythm of it. They worked wonderfully together, flutter in his heart or not. Most of the cases had been small; certainly nothing like the Latimer case. He wasn’t looking forward to the next case he had to work like that, and he could only pray it wouldn’t be in Broadchurch. But he couldn’t envision himself leaving anytime soon, so he’d just have to wait and see.

The Trish Winterman case put a bad taste in his mouth for weeks on end. Even after they’d caught the culprit, that disgusting man who had collected women like trophies, he hadn’t been able to get the taste of it out of his mouth. He had a hard enough time with feelings in normal circumstances; after that, he hadn’t let himself think of Miller as anything other than a fellow detective for ages. 

They’re between cases right now, which is how he’s ended up home at a decent hour. Daisy insisted it must have been a miracle, which he had lightly tried to brush off as he made his way inside. And now he’s just sat on the couch with a cup of tea, shoes, jacket and tie discarded in his room. He’s trying to relax, he knows that, but he’s almost worried he doesn’t quite remember how.

Daisy is clattering around in the kitchen doing something. There’s a particularly loud noise, and he sits up, squinting. “What’re you doin’?”

“I’m making a mug cake,” she says simply, as though that explains everything.

“A what?” he asks.

“A mug cake,” she repeats. “It’s a cake in a mug, you make it in the microwave. Do you want one?”

He stares at her for a moment, before settling back into the couch. “No.”

He catches the disappointment on her out of the corner of his eye, and he sits back up. “Er— well, I mean— if you’re offerin’. What— flavor? Is it?”

“Chocolate,” Daisy says, getting back to what she’s doing. She doesn’t say anything else to him, so he sinks back down and takes a sip of his tea. When she finally comes to sit down, she hands him a mug that has a spoon tucked into it, much to his surprise.

“Oh,” he says, sitting back up quickly. He sets his tea down on the coffee table and takes the mug. “I— _shit—_!”

“It’s hot,” Daisy says, sitting down on the other end of the couch. 

He holds the mug by its handle, tentatively picking up the spoon and looking into it. It looks like a normal little cake, and seems edible, but he could never know with Daisy. He watches her take a bite of hers before he deems it safe for consumption.

“That’s really good,” he says, nodding. “Where’d you learn how to make this?”

“Saw it online,” she says simply. 

They eat in silence for a moment.

“Speaking of online,” she says, suddenly seeming very interested in him. She shifts on the couch, pulling her legs up underneath herself, before grinning at him over her mug. “Have there been any more dates?”

Hardy makes a noise like he’s trying to fend her off, but he knows he can’t do that. She’s just gonna push again, and he’s going to give in whether he wants to talk about it or not. “No.”

“Why not?” Daisy asks, and she sounds genuinely curious. “Thought you said your first one went pretty well.”

“It went okay,” Hardy corrects her. “It was— I mean, I was in the middle of a case, Dais, I was— I wasn't focused. Besides, you know I’m not… good at that stuff.”

“What, talkin’ to people?” Daisy asks knowingly. “Have you even opened the app since then?”

“I’m eatin’,” Hardy says, as he takes another bite.

“Get your phone out!” Daisy exclaims. “You could at least have a look. If mum can have men over every other night, you should at least go on a date once in a blue moon.”

He doesn’t dare to comment on that. He doesn’t really like thinking about Tess and other men, even though they aren’t married anymore, but he suspects that has a lot to do with Daisy’s falling out with her mum. She never wanted to talk about it with him, and he doesn’t like to push her, so he pulls his phone out of his pocket instead.

The app is hidden in a bundle of other apps that he never uses, tucked all the way in the back of the folder, particularly because he didn’t want anyone to ever see it. It takes a moment for it to open, but when it does, what he sees would have been enough to knock him off his feet, had he been standing.

He doesn’t have his glasses, so he lowers his phone to make sure he’s seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. And he definitely is. 

“Is that Ellie Miller?” Daisy asks, leaning over to get a proper look at his screen.

“No,” Hardy says immediately, which is stupid, because her name is clearly right there in bold letters. 

“It totally is!” Daisy says, leaning closer. “Aw, she looks nice.”

Hardy doesn’t comment. He stares at his phone for a long moment, not sure what he should do, when Daisy nudges his side. “How you gonna swipe?”

“What?” he asks.

“That’s how you say yes or no,” Daisy reminds him.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Swipe left for no, right for yes.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

“… So, how you gonna swipe?”

“You would be a terrible detective,” Hardy tells her. “You can’t interrogate anyone like that. You sound far too interested in the outcome.”

“I _am_ interested in the outcome,” Daisy says, grinning at him. “It’s a simple left or right. Either you fancy her, or you don’t.”

“I do not fancy Miller,” Hardy says immediately, feeling like he’s been caught red handed. 

“Fine,” Daisy says, sounding smug. “Then swipe left.”

He doesn’t want to do that, though, does he? Because if he does that, she’ll be gone forever— only on the app, of course, he’ll still see her at work tomorrow, but it still feels like it would have heavier consequences. 

Without saying anything, Daisy reaches her free hand over and takes her dad's finger, making him swipe right. He keeps his face completely neutral, even though he sort of wants to scream.

“What’d you do that for?” he asks flatly, once she’s done the damage.

“‘Cause I knew you were too stubborn to,” Daisy teases, sitting back against the couch.

Hardy grunts. He closes the app and puts his phone back in his pocket. “I’m putting that in my notes,” he grumbles. “You did that swipe, not me.”

“My fingerprints aren’t on the screen,” Daisy points out.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, then goes back to eating his mug cake. They sit in silence for a moment.

“If it helps,” Daisy says, “I think you two would make a good couple.”

His heart does a funny little thing in his chest. “Thanks, that doesn’t help at all,” he says, trying to sound like he doesn’t care. “What on earth makes you say that, anyway?”

She shrugs. “Ellie is nice,” she reasons. “And you two work well together. Mum was your detective sergeant for a long time.”

“We took those jobs after we got married,” Hardy points out. “This is different.”

“How different?” Daisy asks.

He doesn’t answer. He finishes his mug cake and puts his dishes in the sink and decides it’s time to get ready for bed. He bids Daisy goodnight and goes to his room, tosses his phone on his bed before retreating to the shower. He stands under the stream of water for a while, trying not to think of anything at all. He wishes he could banish all thoughts from his head. He can’t wait to go to sleep. He finds himself hoping it’s dreamless.

The last thing he does before climbing into bed is plug his phone in so it can charge. When he does, the screen lights up, and there’s a notification there.

_Ellie sent you a message!_

His pacemaker definitely has its work cut out for it, considering the stunt his heart pulls in reaction to _that_.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, unlocking his phone to see what she said, against his better judgement. 

_You’re smiling in your photos. I almost didn’t recognize you!_

What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? He stares at the message for ages, reading it over and over again, before he finally just turns his phone off and lays down to go to sleep. 

His sleep is not dreamless. He’d be hard pressed to admit what his dreams were about.

She doesn’t mention it at all the next day. She just greets him like she normally does, and he responds like he normally does. In that, he doesn’t greet her at all, just jumps right into work, ignoring the little flutter in his chest all the while.

It takes him all of the next day to think up a clever response. He can’t send it until he gets home. He waits until he’s gotten in and put his keys away before he pulls his phone out and types it up.

_Well you’re not wearing your jacket in any of yours. How am I supposed to know it’s you if you’re not directing traffic?_

He reads it over and feels clever. Then he sends it and immediately feels stupid. He puts his phone in his room to charge and doesn’t touch it until he goes to bed.

When he’d plugged it in earlier, he set it on the nightstand face down. He grabs it by the edge and tilts it up to peak at the screen.

_Ellie sent you a message!_

He drops his phone back down like it burned him, staring at it. He eases down onto the edge of his bed, before picking his phone back up and opening the message.

_I think you’re just confused because I didn’t have my name listed as Miller._

He bounces his knee, staring at his phone.

_Probably a better idea not to let strangers on the internet know your last name anyway._

He sends it, and then locks his phone and tosses it on the bed next to him, putting his face in his hands. He sounds like a crazy person, he knows it, and he’s waiting for her to call him on it.

His phone buzzes, and before he can even think about it he reaches down and grabs it, unlocking it to see what she’s said.

_Strangers on the internet? We live in Broadchurch. Only town for miles. How many people on here do you think aren’t gonna know me?_

He taps his phone against his chin. She’s not calling him crazy, just stupid. He can’t tell if that’s better or worse. He rereads her message, and then all the others, and tries to figure out how he’s going to respond. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure it out, because she texts him again.

_Pick a night._

He stares at it for a long time. 

_What?_

Her response comes rather quick. 

_Pick a night. Thursdays honestly work best for me, but I can get Lucy to take the boys any night. So pick a night._

He reads and rereads the text, wondering briefly if he’s having a stroke.

_Why?_

Her response somehow comes even faster.

_You can’t avoid my invitations out forever. Why did we match if you wouldn’t even consider having a drink? Even as a friend?_

Are he and Miller friends? He’s been trying quite desperately for a long time now to keep her squirreled away in the _colleagues_ category of his life, but is there really much of a reason for that now? 

_Thursday is fine. But I’m not going to a pub with you. If we’re meeting outside of work, we’re going to dinner._

He sends it before he can overthink it. And then he rereads it and immediately begins to overthink it. Did he really just say that? To his detective sergeant? Not only that, but did he really just say that to _Ellie Miller?_ She’s going to rake him over the coals for this one, he can envision it now. He shuts his phone off and slams it back on the nightstand, unable to bear seeing her response.

His phone buzzes, and he grabs it immediately, unlocking it to see what she has to say.

_I get to pick where._

He wonders vaguely if his pacemaker was made to handle this level of stress. It’s worked dozens of cases with him by now, but he can’t remember the last time his heart hammered in his chest like this.

_You’re just gonna make me take you to the chippie._

He sends it and tries to recall the last time he made a genuine effort to flirt with somebody. He briefly wonders if he should count his botched invitation to Becca Fischer to spend the night with him, before cringing and deciding that’s probably best left not thought about. In fact, every attempt he’s ever made at flirting is probably best left not thought about. Including this one.

_Are you really going to complain about going to the chippie? You’ve got that thing in your chest now, you don’t have to eat like a rabbit._

Despite himself, he feels the corners of his mouth quirk up in the slightest of smiles. He sniffs and drops it and tries to think of a good response. He can’t come up with anything smart, though, so he keeps it simple.

_Thursday after work?_

He waits for her to respond and tries to tell himself not to be nervous about this. It doesn’t work in the slightest, and his nerves only double when she finally replies.

_Thursday after work. :)_

He reads it, takes note of the smiley, and thinks about her smile. She has quite a variety of them. He wonders if she’s smiling the way she does when she laughs, or the way she does when she’s politely demanding someone hand over evidence, or if she just put it to be polite and she’s not smiling at all. He hopes it’s not that last one.

The week crawls by at an agonizing pace; he hates to think about the fact that he’s absolutely dying for it to be Thursday already. The two of them don’t actually _talk about it_ , which drives him a little up the wall, but he certainly doesn’t know how to bring it up. He’s not even sure if it’s a proper date; he didn’t say it was, and neither did she. 

He feels like a teenager, and not in the fun way. He _wishes_ this was as simple as a schoolboy crush, something that would go away over the summer holiday. Instead, he’s fifty years old laying awake in bed at night contemplating sending her a _what are we?_ text.

Thursday morning, any excitement he could possibly feel is being washed out by copious amounts of dread. Daisy is in the kitchen about to leave for school when he comes out of his room.

“I, er, won’t be home right after work today,” he tells her.

She looks up. “Case?”

“No,” he says immediately. “No, I’m— I’m… goin’ to dinner.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. She leans against the counter. “With who?”

He tries to wave her off, but she leans further against the counter and asks, “Ellie Miller?”

“Yeah, so I’ll be back late, but not too late,” he says quickly, rushing over the words in hopes that if he just gets them out fast enough, nothing bad will happen.

She makes a face he doesn’t quite know how to interpret. “Have fun…” she says, drawing the word out, grinning at him.

“Yeah,” he says again, and he starts to turn away, but then he pauses. He turns back around to face her fully. “Do you think… I should shave?”

She stares at him for a moment. “Honestly?” she asks, and he nods once. “No. Don’t. She will make fun of you _mercilessly_ if you do.”

“Right,” he says, turning away from her and heading back towards his room. “Have a good day at school.”

“Have _fun_!” she calls after him as he shuts the door. He’s not even sure what he went in there to do, besides hide.

The workday itself isn’t particularly eventful, not that he would be able to focus on anything long enough to explain what he’s supposed to be doing. He spends most of the day tucked away in his office; he’s not sure he’d be able to handle the consequences if he leaned back in his chair and caught a glance of Miller through the glass. He doesn’t even want to think about what might happen if he ventures out to make a cup of tea.

There’s a knock, and he looks up; Miller is standing in the doorway, her orange coat in her arms, a smile on her face. “About ready?”

He stares at her for a moment, and secretly he wants to kick himself because he can’t even bring himself to smile at her. Instead, he just looks from her to the clock; it is about that time, so he pushes his chair back.

“Yup,” is the only thing he manages to say, standing and grabbing his coat. 

He lets her take the lead, following her out of the station. Nobody pays them any mind as they leave, assuming wherever they’re off to together, it must be important. 

“How’s Daisy?” Miller asks, looking up at him.

“Good,” Hardy says, avoiding her gaze. “She’s good.”

There’s a lapse of silence.

“How’s Tom?” Hardy asks suddenly. “And, er, the wee one? Fred?”

“Oh, they’re both well,” Miller tells him fondly. “Tom’s straightening himself out, bless, and Fred’s starting school come this next term.”

“Already?” Hardy asks, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“I know!” Miller exclaims. “It’s so exciting, but sometimes I wish he’d just stop growing for five minutes so I could stop and take a picture! It feels like every time I come home, I’ve missed something.”

She looks up at him again. “You ever feel that way about Daisy?”

Hardy gives no outward indication of his struggle to find an answer. “Yeah,” is all he offers, though he can think of a thousand examples he doesn’t know how to verbalize.

Miller hesitates, then she asks, “Is she really doing better? Staying here? After… what happened?”

The question yanks him out of his internal train of thought, and he finally spares a glance down at her. He holds her gaze for a moment, then looks away. “Yeah,” he says. “She’s— yeah, it’s definitely… she’s more talkative. I try to be home for dinner as often as I can so I can see her. Chloe Latimer calls at the house, keeps her busy when I can’t.”

“That’s nice,” Miller says with a smile. “I thought she and Chloe might get along.”

The conversation has led him to several trains of thought, but he can’t find the words for any of them, so he doesn’t say anything. They continue on in silence.

After a moment, he glances down at her when he’s sure she’s not looking at him, only to meet her eye. He quickly looks away, feeling intruded upon.

“I have to say,” Miller continues, “I nearly had a fit when I saw your profile. Almost couldn’t believe it was you.”

Hardy swallows, trying to come up with a good response. “It was actually— it was Daisy’s idea. She helped me set it up.”

“Lucy helped me set up mine,” Miller says. “Pretty much sat me down and forced me to. And then I’d gotten everything sorted and _your_ face popped up on the screen. Nearly pissed myself.”

“Thanks,” Hardy says flatly.

“Oh, it’s not _that_ ,” Miller insists. “It was just the fact that _you_ were the first one to pop up, of all people. You never really struck me as the type to use a dating app.”

“I’m not,” Hardy asures her. “I blame Daisy fully.”

“Oh, blame, is that the word?” Miller asks smugly. “Suppose you’ll blame her for the date, too?”

 _So it is a date!_ His pulse spikes at the realization, though Miller doesn’t seem phased by the admission in the slightest. 

“Have you been on many others?” Miller presses on. “Or is this your first?”

“Er…” Hardy says, not sure how to formulate his answer. “Just… one other. But it was durin’ the Trish Winterman case, and it wasn’t really… I mean…”

“Didn’t go well?” Miller guesses.

“It went fine,” Hardy says quickly. “It was just— weird. It’s weird. Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“I think you make it weird,” Miller tells him. Her tone of voice is nice, but she’s giving him a look.

“I mean datin’ through an app, it’s—” he continues, against his better judgment. “It’s just— it’s all a bit— I mean it’s _weird_ , yeah? Like you can’t just meet someone out on the street? You have to use an app?”

“Is that how you used to pick up dates then, out on the street?” Miller asks, grinning at him now. “Alec Hardy, picking up dates left and right, out on the street?”

“Shut up,” Hardy says, squirming with the heat of the blush rising on his cheeks.

“Well, now you’ve got me curious, how _did_ you ever go about it?” Miller asks. “Tell me, how did you ever manage a date with Tess? Let alone marry her?”

Hardy struggles to form a response; for a moment he considers bribing her to shut up, or just not responding, but instead he just decides to bite the bullet. “She asked _me_.”

“Aw,” Miller says teasingly. “And did she propose, too?”

“ _I_ did the proposin’, thanks,” Hardy says. “Would you like to further dissect my love life, or can we move on?”

“I’d like to further dissect, if you’re offering,” Miller says with a smile.

Hardy grumbles, not exactly shutting her down, but still not offering her anything to work with. Luckily, she doesn’t get the chance to ask any questions, because they get to the chippie and then they’re ordering. 

Miller gets a proper meal, whereas Hardy just sticks with chips, which she immediately uses as ammunition to tease him with.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you eat a full meal,” she tells him while they wait. “Just seen you pick at your food and drink coffee.”

“I also drink tea,” Hardy points out, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Do you really not like fish and chips?” Miller asks, and he only offers her a shrug. “Seriously, what kind of Scot doesn’t like fish and chips?”

“I just don’t really fancy it,” Hardy says defensively.

“Well, what do you fancy, then?” Miller asks.

“We’ve already ordered,” Hardy points out.

“Not for now, for future,” Miller insists, and the implication that this might be the first of _more than one_ date makes him sway on his feet a bit. Not enough for her to notice, thankfully. 

He hesitates, and then he simply shrugs.

“Oh, come off it,” she says. “Everybody has a favorite food. I know you _must_ eat, somehow, someway. Unless you’ve learned how to photosynthesize?”

The corners of his lips turn up into a slight smile; he can’t help himself. He lets it linger for a moment, before he gets embarrassed and shoves it away. They pick their food up and head out again, looking for a place to sit.

“I like potato soup,” Hardy finally says.

Miller seems a bit surprised by his sudden answer. “Do you really?”

“Yeah,” Hardy says, forcing the words out. “Make it myself, when I have the time. Not that I ever have the time.”

Miller chuckles, and he pointedly doesn’t look at her, not sure he’d be able to handle it. They find a spot to sit near the docks, the sun beginning to hang low in the sky. It’s quiet for a bit as they eat, but it’s not tense, nor is it the type of silence that hangs while they’re in the thick of a case. It’s something peaceful, and Hardy almost doesn’t know how to deal with it.

He goes through his chips slowly so he doesn’t finish before her, and they end up finishing at the same time, much to his relief. He hates when one person finishes first and the other is left eating alone, no matter which side of the situation he’s on. He gets up to throw their trash away, and when he comes back, Miller is standing.

“Fancy a walk?” she asks.

“It’s gettin’ dark.”

“Walk me home, then.”

He turns over several conversation topics in his head while they make their way, but none of them sound right, so he just keeps his mouth shut. He sees Miller glance at him a few times out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t bring himself to turn and look at her properly. He’s worried about what she’s going to say and how he’ll struggle to respond. For now it’s probably best to keep quiet.

“Well, I had a very nice time,” Miller says once they arrive outside her house. “It was refreshing to see you outside of work. I’m pleased to know you do things besides work and sleep.”

“Never said I sleep,” Hardy points out.

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “Well, I’ve seen you sleep, so I know you must. Every now and again.”

“Only on Tuesdays,” he manages to admit, and she laughs.

There’s a beat of silence. He finds he doesn’t entirely want to leave.

“Do you want to come inside?” she asks, clearly hesitant.

His pulse spikes. “What for?”

She stares at him for a moment. “I had something I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” she finally admits. “Tom and Fred aren’t in. They’re with Lucy. Just be the two of us.”

Hardy bites the inside of his cheek, weighing his options, unable to figure out where this is heading. “Right then.”

She lets him in and flicks on the light, leading him into the living room. He stays standing, awkward, and she doesn’t seem to want to sit down if he’s not going to. 

He puts his hands in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe. “What did you want to talk about?”

She looks more unsure now than she has all evening. “I’ve just— been thinking is all.”

“… Thinkin’.”

“Yes,” Miller says, giving him a look. “And our job, it’s quite stressful.”

Hardy stares at her. “Sure.”

“ _Sure_. You say that like it didn’t almost kill you,” Miller says immediately. “But that’s— nevermind, I just thought— I mean I had this… look just tell me if you think it’s a stupid idea, and I’ll never bring it up again.”

“Love to, if you’d bring it up in the first place,” Hardy sys before he can stop himself.

She gives him a look. “Look, I’m just saying, our job is stressful, and I feel like we could both benefit from a bit of… stress relief, as it were.”

Hardy doesn’t say anything.

“And we’re both adults,” Miller adds. “Single adults.”

Hardy still doesn’t say anything.

“Well at least say _something_ ,” Miller insists, frowning. “I know you know what I’m getting at here, don’t just stand there.”

Hardy stands in silence, a bit lost for words. “Like… casual sex?”

Miller looks somewhat exasperated. “Yes, like casual sex.”

He stares at her for a long moment. “No.”

She flushes, looking away in embarrassment, and Hardy immediately gets tongue tied trying to backtrack. Before he can even think about how to fix his mess of a response, Miller is saying, “Right, well, nevermind then. Forget I brought it up. It doesn’t have to be a whole big thing, I’ll just see you at work tom—”

“I can’t have casual sex with you because I fancy you.”

It’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself. There’s a long, terrible moment of silence. Miller looks like Hardy has just confessed to murder.

“ _… What_?” she finally manages. “Wh— _what_? What does that even mean?! You can’t have sex with me because you _fancy_ me?! What do you mean you _fancy_ _me_?!”

“… Mean just that,” is all he can manage to say.

“ _Mean just that_ ! Shut up! How— how long have you fucking _fancied me_?!” Miller exclaims.

Hardy is feeling more and more like this is a conversation he would rather die than have, but it’s not like he can just turn around and walk away. “It’s sort of… hard to say…”

“How on earth is it hard to say?!” Miller insists. “There was a time when you fancied me and a time when you didn’t! When does one stop and the other begin?!”

“There wasn’t a time when I fancied you and a time when I didn’t,” Hardy bites out. “There was a time when I _knew you_ and a time where I didn’t. And there was a time when I _knew_ I fancied you and a time when I didn’t.”

Miller stares at him. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Might’ve,” Hardy mutters, rubbing his face.

“Are you actually telling me you’ve fancied me _this whole time_?” Miller asks incredulously.

Hardy doesn’t say anything, just looks somewhat mortified. It’s enough of an answer on its own.

“I was married!” Miller exclaims.

“Well, yeah!” Hardy says. “That’s why I didn’t say anythin’!”

“Didn’t say anything?” Miller asks. “Forget not saying anything, I’ve never been able to tell if you actually liked me or not! And now you’re telling me you’ve _fancied me_ this whole time?!”

“It’s because you were married!” Hardy insists. “I felt strange about it because you were married, I didn’t like the idea! And then with everythin’ that happened, I didn’t want to bother you about it— it just made the whole thing even more complicated. It didn’t feel worth bringin’ up.”

“And then you _left_ ,” Miller points out.

“And then I came back,” Hardy says, in a quiet voice.

Miller softens suddenly. “… Because of me?”

He shrugs, looking away. “There were… a lot of reasons,” he says slowly. “But… none of them would’a mattered if you hadn’t been here.”

Miller stares at him for a moment. “You’re so damn prickly, but you really are a softy deep down, aren’t you?”

Hardy groans, turning away, but he turns back to face her again just as quickly. She raises her eyebrows at him. “Not even going to deny it?”

“Don’t make me say it, Miller,” he mutters.

She makes a face. “You’re not gonna make me keep calling you _Hardy,_ are you?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, wondering if he actually wants to say the thought that pops into his mind. Finally, he says, “I’ll tell you this, Miller, but if you start teasin’, I’m walkin’ home.”

“Alright,” Miller says, a smile gracing her lips. 

Hardy hesitates a moment longer. “I can’t stand usin’ first names with you because it feels too… intimate.”

She nods slowly, processing. “So you _like it_ when I call you Alec?”

He looks down at the floor. “It does make me a bit weak at the knees, to tell you the truth.”

“Well, we can’t have that, considering your heart condition,” Miller says quickly.

Hardy makes a face, turning away. “I’m walkin’ home.”

“Oh, no, no, come back!” Miller laughs, rushing forward to stop him. She grabs him by his arm, turning him to face her. He tilts his head down, but doesn’t make eye contact. She doesn’t let go.

They stay like that for a moment.

“Are you really gonna make me make the first move?” Miller asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Hardy asks.

“Christ, you’re impossible.”

“I’m just makin’ sure.”

“ _Yes_ , I’d like you to kiss me,” Miller says. “Bloody hell.”

Hardy hesitates for just a moment, before leaning down and pulling her into a chaste kiss. It lasts just a second, and then just as he’s beginning to actually enjoy it, Miller pulls away with a _laugh_.

He blinks. “What?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing, it’s just—” Miller says, still giggling. “I’ve never kissed someone with so thick a beard.”

Hardy purses his lips, blushing. Before he can say anything, though, she pulls him down into another kiss. This one lasts much longer than the first, and Hardy begins to feel like he’s going to need to lean against the wall again. It’s been ages since he kissed anyone, and for so long he’s only wanted to kiss Miller, and now that he’s actually doing it he’s worried his pacemaker isn’t going to be able to keep up.

He breaks the kiss, pushing away from her so he can lean against the wall. “Sorry,” he says, a bit breathlessly.

“Are you alright?” Miller asks, worried.

“Fine,” Hardy assures her. “Just— a bit much… it’s been a while.”

Miller leans against the wall, too. “When was the last time you’ve done anything like this?”

Hardy hesitates. “… My marriage.”

Miller bites her lip, clearly trying not to make a face. Hardy pointedly ignores her. “I’m not normally… good… at this type of thing. I’m not good at… expressin’ how I feel… but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel for you.”

Miller smiles softly at him. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

He looks away. “You just gonna make fun of me all night, Miller?” he asks, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

“You just gonna keep calling me Miller like we didn’t just kiss?” Miller asks.

He smiles wider, a rare occurrence. “Aye, I can… call you Ellie when we’re alone.”

She raises her eyebrows. “When we’re alone?”

He squirms slightly. “I don’t much like how everyone in this town knows _all_ my business…”

Miller hums. “People’ll find out eventually.”

“True,” Hardy says. “But it would be nice to keep it quiet. For a bit. Have some peace and quiet for one.”

That makes her chuckle. “I’ll give you that one, alright,” she says. “Fancy that. I haven’t had a secret boyfriend since primary school.”

Hardy looks away. “Don’t think I’ve ever had a secret girlfriend.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He gives her an annoyed look, but it quickly dissolves. They stand in silence for a moment, looking at each other, before Miller says, “Do you want to… er… stay the night…?”

“Oh,” Hardy says, blushing. “I— I probably need to get back to Daisy. She’s… home alone.”

“Quite right,” Miller says quickly, almost sounding relieved.

“Besides,” Hardy adds quickly, before he can stop himself. “I’m not really the type to… on a first date…”

“Right, no,” Miller agrees. “Neither am I, really. Hardly ever.”

“Right.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I could do with another kiss before you leave, though,” she suggests.

“If you like,” he says, already leaning in.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment if you enjoyed!! you can find me on [tumblr](https://paintedvanilla.tumblr.com/) :0)


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